


The Arch of Glass

by deaths



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Background Relationships, Character with ADHD, Character with depression, Coming of Age, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Roommates, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2020-04-24 17:44:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19178275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deaths/pseuds/deaths
Summary: After an incident involving spilled blueberry tea and a displaced chair, Sebastian hits his boiling point and sets out to move to the city despite his suboptimal finances. Haley can only take so many photos of meadows and mountains before her burgeoning photography career begins to stagnate. After reaching a reluctant agreement, two deeply flawed people are on their way to Zuzu City, and for all their starry-eyed dreams, they’ve yet to learn that city living takes just as much as it gives.





	1. Young, Dumb, and Stung

**Author's Note:**

> →a good chunk of this story has been loitering in my drafts for about two years now and i needed a palate cleanser from my other WIP. i’m such a sucker for well-done romcom tropes and i promise that this story is going to be entirely self-indulgent.  
> → to give a frame of reference, haley and sebastian’s characterizations are based off of when the farmer achieves four hearts with each of them.  
> → i can’t promise when this will update, but there will always be at least one chapter on the third thursday of each month. this will likely be more frequent but i do want to give myself a cushion in case i need to take a break for whatever reason.  
> → join me in rarepair hell

_Charming one bedroom apartment in downtown Zuzu — 1100 G/month_

_Luxury 1 bd/1 br — 1150 G/month — recently renovated!_

_STUNNING ONE BEDROOM APARTMENT — 1200 G/MONTH — LOCATION, LOCATION, LOCATION!!!_

He tabs out to his bank balance.

Yᴏᴜʀ Bᴀʟᴀɴᴄᴇ: 703.21 G

He leans back in his chair and runs a hand down his face. What a fucking joke.

Sebastian’s eyes are starting to burn and water from staring into his computer’s hypnotic white light for the past three hours with no break. A terrifying number of tabs sit atop his browser, the majority of them from various websites advertising apartments with a scattered few containing the search results of such intellectual queries as _first time moving out_ and _moving from country to city_.

He tries to avoid smoking inside, but today’s events warrant a little indulgence. He brings the light to his lips, savoring the way smoke weaves its way through his lungs. It pours from his lips, wisps of it undulating above him.

Maybe he should post his own ad for a roommate. All the ones he had the misfortune of stumbling upon either solicited fellow college students or were penned by illiterate hacks. Yet, when he goes to make that new post, he never gets more than a few words in before scrapping the whole thing. A voice inside of him screams that no one would willingly approach him.

He laughs humorlessly and stares at the staircase in front of him.

After all, what could have possibly taught him to feel that way?

* * *

“I’m done, man. I’m getting the hell out of here.”

Sam looks up from tuning his guitar strings, expression squarely between distressed and titillated. Shit. He’s gonna have to explain himself, isn’t he? Sprawled across Sam’s bed, he runs his hand through his hair, abruptly aching for a cigarette as he stares at the peeling band posters on the wall to his left.

“You’ve been sayin’ that for a while, but you’re really serious this time?” It’s a question that he undoubtedly already knows the answer to for once.

“Dead serious. I’ve been putting it off way too long, but I can’t stay in that house anymore.”

Sam sets his guitar on his stand and fishes in his pocket for a piece of gum, unwrapping it and unceremoniously stuffing it into his mouth. “You kinda mentioned something happening yesterday. It wasn’t just Demetrius being an ass again, right?”

Sebastian laughs dryly. “If it had just been that, I’d’ve been gone a long time ago.”

“Damn. What happened, anyway?” Sam asks, pelting the gum wrapper into the trash can by the door.

What happened _indeed_. He fumbles for his Joja Cola on Sam’s nightstand and takes a sip, still reclined.

It had been the rare night where he didn’t steal away into the basement with a loaded plate and instead ate with the rest of them.

“To what do we owe the occasion of your presence at the table, Seb?” his mother had asked playfully as she poured blueberry iced tea into their glasses. He saw Maru shuffle into the room out of the corner of his eye, tensing at the sight of him — a detail that wasn’t lost on him.

“Client’s project was due today and I procrastinated,” he admitted, sliding into the seat next to his mother and across from Maru. “I’ve been working since nine.”

“Well, it’s done now, right?”

Sebastian had opened his mouth to reply before Demetrius’s voice cut in from the direction of the stove. “Sebastian, could you come here and help?”

He rolled his eyes at the excruciatingly convenient timing. “Really, after I just said that I’ve been working for ten hours straight?”

“And your mother’s been working all day too. She managed to find the time to help cook. I think you can spare a couple minutes.”

“What’s Maru been doing all day?” It was a valid question — she hadn’t worked at the clinic that day and hell if he knew how she spent her free time.

Though Sebastian didn’t turn to face him, he could practically feel Demetrius bristling at that comment. He remained silent though, and Maru’s downturned glance and his mother’s furrowed brow spoke to the escalating tension emanating throughout the room.

“He’s not asking for a lot, Seb,” his mother said.

Pressing his lips into a thin line, he stood from his chair and stomped into the kitchen, not meeting Demetrius’s gaze. He lifted the tray of roasted potatoes from the stove. He hadn’t intended to slam them on the table the way he did, but he scarcely had the opportunity to defend himself before Maru saw the pressing need to comment.

“Really?”

He glared at her with every intention to dispel that smug sense of superiority she exuded. “ _So_ sorry.”

By the time Demetrius had sat down with the rest of them, the tension was nearly choking the four of them like a noxious miasma. Every sound was amplified, deafening. The clink of silverware against porcelain. The creaking of the chair as Maru shifted. Demetrius clearing his throat. The plaintive cry of a cricket perched on the windowsill.

Ambience notwithstanding, they ate in silence until his mother asked, “What _were_ you up to anyway, Maru?”

“I made some progress on that project I’ve been talking about. Nimet came by and dropped off some batteries, but it’ll still be a while before I’m done,” she said with a sticky sweet smile.

“That’s good, sweetie!”

“You’ll have to let me take a look when you’re done,” Demetrius said. When Sebastian maintained his silence, he scowled and continued. “Don’t you have anything to say to your sister, Sebastian?”

“Yeah, let me just trip over myself to kiss her ass when no one gives a shit about anything I do.”

Demetrius had glowered at him, saying, “Maybe if you _did_ think about someone other than yourself, we wouldn’t be having these issues all the time.”

That was rich. He scoffed and stabbed a potato with his fork. “Every time I try to do that, you find something to criticize. I’m not stupid enough to do the same thing over and over expecting a different result.”

“Your idea of ‘trying’ seems to be different than mine.”

He had stood up then, so forcefully that his chair toppled over, and — ruled by rage — slammed his hands on the table. Maru started; his mother gasped. The glass of iced tea tipped over and spilled forth, drops of indigo cascading down the table legs before pooling on the hardwood floor.

“I didn’t ask for this shit. I didn’t ask to be a part of this,” he said lowly, gripping the undersides of the table until his knuckles went paper white.

“Seb, please — ”

He turned to his mother, forcing himself to disregard the plea in her eyes. “You’re part of the problem! You sit there and say ‘Seb’ this and ‘Seb’ that, but you just hang the fuck back when _he_ rips into me for stupid shit!”

His mother’s eyes widened and her lips twisted as though she had been stung by a particularly lethal creature. His frown had grown deeper and he stamped out his guilt like a lowly insect, willing his mother to feel as enraged as he did, because at least that was easier to cope with than her hurt.

Demetrius stood up, emulating Sebastian’s intensity and multiplying it by several magnitudes.

“That’s _enough_!” he bellowed, pointing toward the door as his nostrils flared. “Leave. I don’t care where you go.”

“Honey, don’t — ”

Sebastian held up a hand to silence her.

“Oh, don’t worry. You’ve made it clear that you guys would be happier if I weren’t here. And soon, you’ll all be getting your wish,” Sebastian had spit before walking briskly toward the entrance. He made his exit and slammed the door behind him, leaving the upturned chair and rivulets of blueberry tea behind.

“Uh, earth to Sebastian?”

Sam waves a hand in front of his face, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Sebastian shakes his head, forcing himself to return to this plane of existence. “Sorry, it’s a long story. I just don’t fit into their happy little family.”

“But you’ve got me and Abigail,” he chirps, knocking back his soda.

Sebastian can’t stop himself from snorting derisively. A glimmer of hope once existed in him as far as Abigail was concerned, but he’s seen the way she looks at the farmer. That ship sailed long ago, never to anchor at his harbor again.

“Why don’t you come with me, then?”

His eyebrows shoot up. “No way, dude. I already lived there. I know what it’s like.”

Sebastian scratches his head and taps his fingers against the nightstand. “So that should make things easier, right?”

“It’s not as great as you think it is,” Sam says, grimacing.

It’s enough to give Sebastian pause, but at the same time, it’s not like they’re the same person. What didn’t work for Sam might work for him.

The city. Utter anonymity. Lurking the streets at night, invisible to passersby. Everyone’s too preoccupied with their own saga to care about anyone else’s business. People blend and blur into one another to the point where there’s more privacy in a city of over a million than a secluded hamlet like this.

“Maybe that’s something I need to discover for myself,” Sebastian mutters, tracing lines on the ceiling with his eyes.

“If you do go through with it, just remember you can come back any time.” Sam flashes an uncharacteristically cryptic grin.

He smirks and turns to face him. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Feigning offense, Sam tosses a guitar pick aimed for his head. “Don’t call me out like that, man!”

* * *

Sebastian doesn’t arrive back home until long after everyone has retired for the night. He crosses the threshold and closes the heavy pine door behind him, careful to minimize any creaking. The stark silence of the house at this hour had never bothered him until now. It clings to his back, nags in his ear, reads his rap sheet of minor offenses against his family. He hesitates for a fleeting moment before turning the bend and descending down the dark staircase into the enclave of the basement.

He switches the unforgiving fluorescent light on and strips down to his boxers. The unusually temperate spring air feels good against his skin, as loathe as he is to admit it.

He glances at his computer, then to his bed, then back to his computer. He hasn’t searched today. The likelihood of any new posts is slim, but something compels him to check.

Sebastian opens up his typical cocktail of apartment listings and roommate search sites, scanning each of them for new developments. His heart skips a beat when a horribly antiquated _new!_ GIF of orange text flashes on one website dedicated to finding roommates.

_22/F from Stardew Valley looking for roommate (women preferred)_

He quirks an eyebrow. Stardew Valley, huh? One doesn’t see that every day. Pelican Town isn’t the only municipality in the region — maybe it’s from one of the neighboring villages. He’s desperate enough to ignore that preference marker in the header and clicks through.

_Who am I? I’m 22, f, from Stardew Valley! I’m moving to Zuzu City and I’m looking to room w/ someone starting Summer 1! NO COLLEGE STUDENTS, NO PETS!!! Girls preferred but I’ll consider men if you’re cute enough (haha jk)._

He scrunches his nose, a twinge of disgust coursing through him. At the same time, it’s someone else in his age bracket, someone who isn’t in college, and someone who likely knows the hell of living in desolation. A bolt of boldness flashes through him and he sends an email to the address listed in the ad. Somewhat suspiciously, it doesn’t contain any information as to the poster’s name.

_Hey, are you still looking for a roommate? I’m from SV too._

Short, sweet, to the point. He leans back in his chair. A wave of exhaustion washes over him and he sinks down a bit, stretching his mouth to yawn. The notification tone, signaling a response, prompts him to straighten right back up. That was unnervingly quick. He can imagine some chick draped over her sofa and refreshing her email several times per minute.

_Yeah I am!_

Okay, helpful. He rolls his eyes and fires off another message.

_I’m a guy, is that ok?_

The next response is as swift as its predecessor.

_Yeah sure. Do u know where Stardrop saloon is? Its in Pelican town. Lets meet there tmrw at 3. Hope that’s not too far. Sry for the typos, im on my phone._

His heart drops into his stomach. It’s probably someone from this stupid fucking town, isn’t it? Then again, it could be Abigail — for as much as she seems to adore Nimet, there’s never been an unequivocal indication that it’s a requited crush. He could probably tolerate living with that girl Penny. He’s not crazy at the prospect of rooming with a space case like Emily, but she’s lowkey enough. Leah would never, neither would Maru. Then there’s the worst possible scenario: Haley. Ah, Haley — a hailstorm of bitchery encapsulated in a human vessel, someone whose existence is so diametrically opposed to his own that it nearly nauseates him.

But he can’t get ahead of himself. Even if he isn’t crazy about the roommate, it’s still a decent launchpad to at least get him there, and they don’t have to live together for more than a year anyway.

Sebastian sends a quick message to confirm the meeting, plucks a dust-caked white bottle of melatonin from its place on a shelf next to his bed, and dry swallows two bitter pills.

* * *

A mess of blonde hair near the bar tears his hopes from his hands and crumples them into a wrinkled ball.

He freezes in the doorway of the nearly vacant saloon, assailed by the aggressive smell of calamari drifting from the kitchen. It would be a dick move to turn back and stand her up, but it can’t possibly be that bad, right? It’s not like she knows it’s him, anyway. He doesn’t have to worry about rumors. Not that he’d worry about rumors anyway. Not a chance.

He’s about to do just that when she turns and spots him. His shoulders drop in defeat and he saunters over to the bar.

She blinks twice, taps her manicured nail against the glass (of seltzer water?), and scoffs. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What a coincidence. I was thinking the same exact thing.”

He stands there, not entirely sure what to do with himself. He absolutely does not want to have this conversation with her, does not want to entertain the possibility of living with her, does not want to spend a moment of his time with her. Gus’s prying gaze sears holes right through him as he wipes down the bar.

“Why are you just standing there like an idiot? Come on, sit down.” She pats the stool next to her for emphasis and _Yoba_ , all he wants to do is wipe that smug grin off her stupid, bitchy face.

All four of his limbs feel completely disparate from each other. His body has all the coordination of an inflatable tube man waving jubilantly outside of a car dealership as he hops onto the barstool, surreptitiously gripping the bar for balance.

“Can I get ya anything, Sebastian?” Gus drawls. As good-natured as he is, he doesn’t pass up an opportunity when he spies one.

“Rum and cola,” he grumbles.

“On the rocks?”

“On the rocks.”

Gus turns on his heel and makes quick work of dumping several ice cubes into a short glass and painstakingly measuring out ounces of rum.

“That’s not a very manly drink,” she derides. A faint print of coral lip gloss mars the rim of her glass.

“Oh, _my bad._ Gus, make that a fucking cosmo.”

Gus ceases his handiwork and raises his eyebrows. “You sure?”

Really? He can’t stop an exasperated sigh from escaping his lips. “No, sorry. Just a joke.”

“A bad one,” Haley says with a sip of seltzer.

His gut had suspected it and her presence here confirms it, but a part of him had wanted to believe that it was Abigail. Hell, Emily would’ve been fine. Thinking about it rationally, Abigail likely would have informed him beforehand if she were looking to ditch the valley for the city life, but hey. Hope springs eternal.

Haley, though?

She turns back to him and flashes a saccharine smile — like sugar on rotting meat. “So you’re looking for a new place too, huh?”

“I wanted to live alone, but the city’s expensive,” he says, dodging her question.

She sighs with dramatic flair rivaling that of an A-list actress. “Tell me about it.”

“What, Mommy and Daddy aren’t shelling out this time?” He sneers and sloshes his rum and coke around, focusing his gaze on one particularly misshapen ice cube.

Her expression hardens. “Actually, I got a job. That a problem for you?”

Now _that’s_ a surprise. Apparently his face says as much because she laughs, condescension lacing its edges. Sebastian takes another swig of the rum and cola. He can’t even bring himself to savor the sweet burn as it sluices down his throat. It does nothing to blunt his nerves. Useless.

“Something had to have lit a fire under your ass for that to happen.”

A sheepish shade of red tints her cheeks. “My dad said he wants me to ‘learn the value of hard work,’ or whatever.”

Her father doesn’t know what kind of favor he’s doing her, but Sebastian has no desire to be a guinea pig in her financial independence experiment. He has no desire to have any role in any compartment of her life, actually.

“You’re...not what I expected,” she says with an air of disgust, “but I’ll take you over the sorority girls who answered my ad. I’m over that.”

“What an honor,” he intones. He drains the rum and cola from the glass. “You’re not my first pick either, you know.”

“Your first choice isn’t gonna leave that farmer girl behind.”

“Do you pick the bitchiest response for everything on purpose, or is that just your personality?”

“Who, me? Why don’t you look in the mirror?”

He rubs his temples. “You know, I don’t think I’m desperate enough for this.”

“I guess you don’t really want to move, then. It’s not like you’re going to find anyone else. All the people looking right now are college kids,” she says blithely as she flicks her golden hair over her shoulder and takes a dainty sip of seltzer. “Unless you’d rather live with them?”

“I’d rather shove dynamite down my throat, thanks,” he mumbles.

Haley leans forward, her frigid eyes freezing and shattering his resolve. “That’s what I thought. So, are we gonna do this thing or not?”

She’s still willing to live with him even though they’re oil and water. He has half a mind to suspect an ulterior motive.

“Look, living with college kids might make me want to swallow a dynamite,” he begins, leaning forward to match her intensity, “but living with you? I’d rather stick a cactus up my ass.”

She shrugs and knocks back the rest of her seltzer before sliding off the stool. Her baby pink skirt hikes up to expose the expanse of her thigh before she straightens it out. Repulsed, he averts his gaze toward the floor, not meeting her eyes when she turns to leave. “Well, we’ve already established that you’re not gonna find anyone else, so too bad for you. I’m looking at places tomorrow at nine. If you change your mind…”

“Don’t count on it.”

“I won’t be losing sleep.”

With that, she’s gone, her departure punctuated by Gus’s uneasy chuckle.

“Y’know, Sebastian,” he says, setting his rag down. “Ms. Haley likes to put on airs, but I think she knows she can’t make it on her own right now. She’s probably more anxious than you think.”

“Sounds like her problem, not mine,” he says, though not entirely convinced of his own conviction.

“I get that. Just keep an open mind. You might not get along, but give it a chance, maybe.”

When he walks into the house that night and makes eye contact with Maru and Demetrius — feels the tendrils of their contempt wrapping themselves around him like a vise — he starts to think he spoke too soon. At least Haley is gleeful in her judgment against him and doesn’t pretend it’s some righteous retribution for his perceived sins. Hers is a simple, shallow disdain; there’s a bizarre politeness in their mutual distaste. The roots don’t go quite as deep as those of his “family.”

He flirts with slumber that night, but a churning sense of anxiety keeps him awake — like someone dumping an icy bucket of water over his head at random intervals.

Looks like he’s the one losing sleep.

* * *

Sebastian wakes up a couple hours earlier than usual and throws on a t-shirt and jeans, shirking his typical hoodie. His blacks don’t match, which seems like an apt metaphor for how life is going right now.

He steals away into the garage before anyone can spot him and starts his bike, relishing the engine’s revving and the way it always implies rebellion to him. Part of him still can’t believe he’s actually giving this thing a shot, but his other avenues are limited — and so are hers, apparently.

He rides off in the direction of the bus stop. Not a single cloud imposes on the perfect blue sky, and the sun shines with brutal indifference to his squinting. He turns the bike off and kicks the stand, waiting for Her Highness to strut into sight.

And strut into sight she does — she’s wearing a ruffley cyan top that matches her eyes and white wedges. At least she had the good sense to wear jeans today. She pauses when she catches sight of him.

“Wow. I didn’t think you’d actually show up.” She doesn’t even bother hiding her sneer.

“Don’t make me change my mind.” He scowls, making no secret what he thinks of this whole thing.

As if just now noticing it, she inspects his motorcycle with a raised eyebrow. “I was going to take the bus.”

“If you want to waste your money, that’s your business. I don’t give a shit either way.”

“The wind’ll mess up my hair, and nobody wants to rent to someone who looks all ratty.”

“Get on or don’t,” he says sharply. He almost can’t believe his own desperation — except that he can, a thought that incenses him even more.

Haley looks from the bus to his bike, apparently weighing her options. Have some peace and quiet on the bus, or deign to lay her royal hands on scum like him? What a fucking dilemma. After a few ‘hmm’s and ‘ah’s, she strolls over to him with such searing condescension that it nearly pricks his skin.

“The bus is kinda dirty,” she says. “At least this thing looks clean.”

He bristles when she places her petite hands on either side of his waist. It’s a light touch, as though he’s some infectious specimen that might eat her flesh if she gets too comfortable.

“Ready?” he asks, swallowing down his own discomfort.

“When you are.”

He hits the accelerator and the engine growls and rumbles as it stirs from its idle state. He veers onto the road, gathering speed as the scent of grass and lavender perfume drenches his senses and his hair whips about his face.

She says something as they approach the desert, but the wind whisks her words away — and that’s just fine by him.


	2. City Grrl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> → this chapter is coming much later than anticipated, but i had a number of unexpected real life things come up. thankfully, things should be stabilizing soon, which means that i’ll be updating regularly. thank you for the sweet comments on the last chapter! ♥  
> → i meant to state this in the last chapter, but each chapter title is from a song  
> → i headcanon sebastian as a beanpole

Emily was wrong about her; she really is an open-minded person. Benevolent, even. What else could explain her presence on his bike right now?

The minute she saw his tall, skeletal figure stalk into the saloon, purple circles like bruises spanning the circumference of his eyes, she nearly asked Gus to pour a shot of tequila in her seltzer. She refrained; she didn’t care about impressing him, but she never says exactly what she wants to say when she’s got alcohol in her blood.

Haley frowns, resigning herself to the fact that strands of hair are going to stick to her lip gloss when it’s this windy and that’s that.

A part of her had wanted to tell him to find someone else. A smaller part said that _she_ wasn’t going to find anyone else, and she hated the prospect of that more than she hated the idea of living with an antisocial weirdo. And that would be a good thing, wouldn’t it? It means that he’ll lock himself in his room all day and leave her alone.

As the city’s skyscrapers loom ever closer, the particulars of living with him fade into the background. Her life in Pelican Town, her family, Alex — they all fade away, yielding to the dream that she’s cultivated every day for the past four years.

And that dream, like the last sunflower of summer, is ready for the picking.

* * *

“Okay, it’s telling us to take a right here and walk for half a mile…”

“That’s a left,” he says as he peers over her shoulder.

If she had a dime for every time someone corrected her on that, she could call her job and quit before she even starts. She rolls her eyes and points toward the street ahead. “Left, right, whatever. We’re going that way.”

“Maybe you should let me navigate.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying that if we waste our time because _you_ keep getting lost, I’m gonna be pissed.”

She bristles. “Oh? Be my guest, since you obviously know this city better than I do.”

She doesn’t expect him to actually reach for her phone, but he does. Panicking, she shoves it down her bra, and the ensuing kaleidoscope of emotions in his expression alone make it worth it. His thin brows shoot up in surprise before furrowing in displeasure; his mouth hangs open before twisting into a scowl.

“You’re really something else, you know that?” He shoves his hands back in his pockets.

She isn’t going to dignify that with a response. After several wrong turns (“I _told_ you.”) and some guesswork, they finally arrive at the designated address. It’s a narrow, three story home with a loud crimson facade and white accents.

She already hates it.

Haley raps on the door three times before sneaking a glance down at her phone. 10:48. She would bite her lip, but sticky lip gloss on teeth is not the most pleasant of sensations.

A short woman opens the door. She’s at least in her late thirties, though it’s possible that she’s in her early thirties and just doesn’t moisturize.

“Hi, we’re the ten-thirty appointment?” she lilts, slathering her voice in sugar to distract the woman from the fact that it’s well past ten-thirty.

“Oh, yes. I was beginning to wonder.” The woman’s gaze flickers over to Sebastian, who is currently staring at his feet like the ungainly oddity he is. “You said in your email that you would be rooming with another girl.”

“There’s been a change in plans,” Haley says quickly.

“I have no problem with that. Will it be your first time living together? Just don’t break up halfway through the lease.” The woman chuckles and isolates one particular key on her keyring.

Haley can’t decide whether she wants to bury her head in the palms of her hands or scream at this landlady for being an awkward weirdo to a total stranger. She settles for smiling even wider as she follows the woman into the foyer.

“It’s not like that,” Sebastian says, his head snapping up and his voice dripping with such disgust that the woman might as well have suggested that he take a dip in the sewers.

Ms. Landlady shrugs. “Friends can break up too.”

He opens his mouth to correct her again, but he clearly thinks better of it. He shoves his hands in his pockets and shakes his head when she turns her back to them.

“All right, y’all would be on the second floor. If you’ll follow me…”

Haley bounds ahead of him, her wedges colliding with the aged hardwood flooring with a loud and satisfying _clack_. She trails Ms. Landlady as she ascends up the bare staircase, each step sighing under her weight. Haley pauses on the second flight to peer out the window facing the street; her heart aches, however pleasantly, at the sight of cars, buses, people, sidewalks, color, _life_ — in a way that simply doesn’t exist in Pelican Town.

“Uh, you coming?”

She spins around and he’s staring down at her from the top of the next flight of stairs.

“Can’t I appreciate the scenery?” she laments. She draws the blinds, hoping that the action looks as dramatic to him as it does in her head. “That’s, like, half the fun of living in a city.”

“Maybe you could’ve appreciated it if we hadn’t been running late.”

“I’m sorry, who made the appointment? Not you. So be quiet, please.”

She marches up the stairs and brushes past him to catch up with Ms. Landlady. At first blush, the apartment is perfectly acceptable. The living room is spacious, its windows facing the opposite street. The kitchen’s appliances are relatively new. The bathroom is narrow and tiles are horrifically hideous, but it otherwise warrants no complaints.

It happens when Ms. Landlady leads them into the first bedroom. It’s fine. It’s nothing to write home about. She strides over to the closet.

“Plenty of closet space. Most of these places give you a glorified cardboard box for storage,” she says with a hint of smugness.

When she opens the door, Haley’s eyes don’t notice the size or dimensions of the closet. She doesn’t notice the metal rack, the lingering hangers from a previous tenant. No, she notices the rodent on the floor, staring at its audience with two beady eyes. It scurries out of sight at the flood of light.

She quietly pats herself on the back for refraining from screaming. She sneaks a glance at Sebastian. He doesn’t look visibly shaken, but he’s paler than normal, if that’s possible.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Ms. Landlady says plaintively, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. She drops her voice when she continues. “I really thought we got rid of them…”

“I’m gonna just…” Sebastian begins, trailing off, before making his exit.

Haley looks at Ms. Landlady. Ms. Landlady looks at Haley.

“You know, we have another appointment at 11:30. We’ll have to be leaving,” Haley says, playing with her bracelet. “And consider firing your exterminators.”

* * *

“Nope,” Sebastian announces loudly from the bathroom of Apartment #2. She grits her teeth. Maybe the landlord is too old to have heard him. Hopefully.

She follows his voice into the bathroom and stands in the doorway, arms akimbo. “And just what is the problem?”

“You get one guess,” he deadpans as he hunches over in the shower, goblinesque.

Well. The ceiling _is_ a little low.

* * *

“Ah, if you could refrain from opening that…” grumbles the disgruntled landlady of Apartment #3 as she places a veiny hand over the washing machine. “Anyway, the bedroom is right over here.”

She shoots them a stern look before shuffling down the hallway. Sebastian flips the washing machine lid up with furious abandon, and the first thing that hits her is the smell. The distinct tang of raw, rank sewage assails her senses. It’s exactly what she imagines would be the scent of a liquefied corpse. A thin, black liquid sloshes around inside the machine.

“Pretty sure we just found a portal to hell,” he says.

She coughs, resisting the urge to dry heave. “Or a crime scene.”

* * *

The last landlord all but kicks them out.

“I have some other clients who will be here at two. If you have no other questions…” he says, but he leaves no room for those questions as he briskly ushers them out of the crumbling building. Literally. A white paint chip descends from the ceiling to collide with her shoulder before reaching its final destination on the welcome mat.

“Well,” she announces when they’re back on the sidewalk, “that sucked.”

He’s already lighting up a cigarette. “I’m gonna have to agree.”

Emily had warned that it would take multiple attempts to find a halfway livable place. Haley had brushed it off. How hard could it be to find a decent apartment in a city the size of Zuzu? As it turns out, it’s near impossible. Everything in their budget range has had malfunctioning appliances, yellowed walls, constellations of black mold on the ceilings, or cockroaches and ants for roommates. More often, they contained a combination of those things.

She sighs and plucks her wallet from her purse. “I’m going to go get lunch somewhere. I’ll meet you back here in, like, fifteen or something.”

He lights up a cigarette, cupping his hand around the lighter to shield it from the incipient breeze. The pungent scent of tobacco drifts in her direction, assaulting her senses — that’s her cue to leave. She turns around and marches down the sidewalk.

Hers aren’t the only footsteps against the concrete. She looks over her shoulder and sure enough, he’s trailing behind her, looking like a lost puppy.

“Why are you following me around? Freak.”

He waves his cigarette around indignantly, sending tendrils of smoke flying off in every direction. “I don’t know this place any better than you do and by the time I’d — no, you know what? I don’t have to fucking justify myself to you.”

Haley huffs and picks up her stride before spotting the burgundy awning of the gastropub she had seen on her navigation app. She opens the weighty mahogany door and the young hostess lifts her head from behind the podium, startled. Looking around, Haley can see that the place is pretty dead, flavorless indie rock supplanting the absent chatter of patrons. It’s surprising — she thought that every place in the city would always be crowded, even during post-lunch rush on a Tuesday.

“Just one?” the waitress asks, plucking a menu from behind the podium.

Well, when she puts it like that, it’s a little depressing. A little familiar. Maybe she shouldn’t have brushed Sebastian off, she thinks with a scowl.

“Yes, just one.”

The waitress duly leads her to a booth for two by the window. She’s beginning to get comfortable with the empty space in front of her when she sees someone else come through the door: someone tall, someone monochrome, someone now angrily striding in her direction.

She doesn’t have to tear her gaze away from the window to know that he’s glaring at her when he slides into the seat opposite her.

“What’s your issue?”

The waitress supplies them with two glasses of water; Sebastian acknowledges her with a nod and Haley flashes a polite smile.

She turns back to him. “What do you mean?”

He methodically tears the wrapping on the plastic straw into small pieces. “Don’t be a dumbass. Why is it such a fucking issue if I _do_ follow you?”

“Because maybe I just wanted to be alone,” she snaps. “I thought someone like you would understand that.”

Haley had been expecting some kind of acidic response, a bitter retort, but to her surprise, he shrinks back and scratches the side of his face. Are his nails painted black? Oh Yoba, they are. She grips the edge of the table in an effort to maintain her poker face.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

She shrugs as the waitress makes her way back to their table, forcing herself to refrain from staring at his hands. “You’re here now, so whatever.”

He orders a gyro; she, mozzarella sticks.

He raises his eyebrows when the waitress zips back off to the kitchen. “You’re not gonna get a salad or something?”

Haley crinkles her nose. “Uh, no. That stuff is gross.”

She can’t help but bristle at the insinuations roiling beneath that question and wonders what other lovely assumptions he’s made about her. Does he think she only listens to music on the radio? That her grades were mediocre because she was too busy painting her nails or out late with friends? That she hasn’t had a thought deeper than what her next outfit will be?

She runs a finger along the tablecloth, savoring the smooth texture. He wouldn’t be the only one in town harboring those beliefs.

Haley digs her phone out of her purse; Sebastian taps his fingers against the table and stares out the window, analyzing passersby. She peers up at him over her screen every now and again. This is the first she’s looking at him — really looking at him. An invisible rain cloud hangs perpetually over his head, his countenance so steeped in gloom that it would probably infect her if she stared too long.

He could be cute, though. If he tried. If he had a different personality.

The waitress scurries over, balancing a tray on her fingertips and placing their respective dishes in front of them. Pleasantries are exchanged, napkins unfolded.

“Where did you manage to land a job anyway?” he asks after the waitress leaves, stabbing a fry into a dollop of tzatziki sauce.

She mimics him with a mozzarella stick and marinara. “A portrait studio at the mall in midtown.”

“That must pay shit.”

“Um, it’s not as bad as you’d think. How much are _you_ making?”

“Enough not to worry about it.”

“Why do you need a roommate then?”

He tenses and downs a dramatic swig of water. “What is this, a fucking interview? I already had to field that shit from those landlords.”

“You better get a real job if you do end up moving here.”

That clearly touched a nerve because his eyes narrow in a searing glare. He pinches the tip of the straw between his fingers.

“Can you just drop it?” he says. “If I can pay the bills, why the fuck do you care?”

“If you’re freelance, there’ll be a time where business is slow, and maybe you _won’t_ be able to make rent that month.” She reaches into her purse to reapply her lip gloss. “I’m a photographer. I think I’d know something about that.”

“Photographer? You take the same stupid shots over and over again. Don’t flatter yourself. And I’m pretty sure I’ll make more in a slow month than even the busiest photographer would in the same amount of time.”

Ouch. What had she said to even warrant that kind of response? She could’ve said a lot worse. She _wants_ to say a lot worse. She grips her forearm, hoping that her expression doesn’t betray how much that wounded her. “How would you know what kinds of shots I take, anyway?”

He plucks a tomato off the gyro. “It’s kind of hard not to notice when someone’s hanging around the same spot for hours every day.”

“I guess it’s easy to notice those things when leaving the house is a super special occasion.”

“At least I leave the house to see friends. Which I _have_. Sorry if you can’t relate.”

He bites his lip as soon as the words leave his mouth. They aren’t coming back. She stares at the reticulated stitching on the trim of the tablecloth. The words percolate into her pores, sinking into her skin.

“Look, I — ”

“Whatever. I just want to go home.”

They split the bill and depart, and trying to power through the awkward silence that ensues is like walking against a gust of wind. The metaphorical rain cloud hovering over him morphs from grey to black. He hunches over, hands in his pockets, as she trails behind him on the way back to their parking space. Guilt racks him — that much is clear.

Another difference between them. He’s dwelling on it. She’s burying it.

They traverse another two blocks before reaching his bike. He hazards a glance at the meter before settling down on the front half of the seat. She’s beginning to stride over to the posterior half when he starts to speak.

“Hey, sorry I said that stuff,” he says, literally twiddling his thumbs, which she thought was just a figure of speech but apparently it’s something people actually do. “I got carried away.”

This is the worst. She can deal with bitter people. She can deal with friendly people. She can’t deal with bitter people who, deep down, wish they could be friendly.

“Idiot. If you’re going to insult someone, at least stick to your guns and don’t be wishy-washy about it.” She turns away from him and grips her arm. “I can see right through you, you know. You’re just scared you might have messed up your chance to move out.”

Her admonishment was apparently unexpected if his raised eyebrows are any indication. His expression vacillates between confusion and irritation.

“Fine, whatever. Don’t accept the apology,” he says, wrapping his hands around the handlebars. “But don’t flatter yourself either. Tall order, I know.”

Every second of the long ride home stretches, distorted, into eternity, running parallel with the desert sands.

* * *

Golden hour has already saturated the valley in shades of yellow and orange by the time they return. The sinking sun rests on a cradle of trees, their leaves swarthy in the shadows, near the mountain looming over Pelican Town.

Haley hops off his motorcycle and waits for him to speak, given that she’s quickly learning that initiating the conversation is the rough equivalent of pirouetting through a minefield as far as he’s concerned. But he says nothing and sweeps his gaze across everything but her — the ticket kiosk, the ground, the dandelions peeking through the cracks in the concrete — blinking rapidly and bouncing his leg against the asphalt.

“Let me guess. You’re wondering if there’s going to be a next time?” She folds her arms across her chest.

“I guess,” he says to the sidewalk, half of his face obscured by his hair — which is in desperate need of a cut, she notes with a scowl.

“I don’t know. Should there be a next time?”

“When are you supposed to start?”

“Huh?”

“Your job. When are you supposed to start?”

“Um, the first day of summer. Why does that matter?”

“You have three weeks to find another roommate, sign the lease, and move in. And it was you who said that only ‘sorority girls’ are looking right now, wasn’t it?”

She raises an eyebrow. “What are you trying to say?”

He glowers. “You’re not gonna find anyone else at this point.”

“What about you? _You’re_ not moving for a job. You can just wait for someone else, you know.”

He bites his lip and fishes in his pocket for a cigarette. “That’d be a waste of time.”

There’s something he isn’t telling her, something that he’s concealing. She studies her nails and suppresses the burgeoning suspicion that his little secret will come back to bite her. “Fine. But try not to be an asshole this time.”

“Maybe you can try doing the same thing.” The rustling of the trees swallows the click of his lighter.

“I’m not an asshole. Not like you. I just say the truth, which you might not like.”

“You’re full of shit,” he says, meeting her eyes with his dark ones.

She shrugs. “Whatever. I’ll be here again on Thursday.”

He mutters something under his breath that she’s thankful she can’t make out before he revs his engine and rides off down the road toward the setting sun.

The walk home is unremarkable; everyone is either at the saloon or settled in for the night. Their house is silent when she crosses the threshold into the foyer. Emily’s probably been at the saloon for a few hours now. Haley throws her purse onto the sofa before throwing herself onto it too, draping herself across the worn and weathered cushions that she _still_ hasn’t cleaned.

These damn cushions. She knows she needs to clean them. She actually did clean them a few times after she relented to Emily’s haranguing and the farmer’s impartial suggestion that it be her only chore. Like with every attempted routine, though — washing the dishes, cooking dinner, scrubbing the baseboards — it fell to the wayside whenever a novel, scintillating idea cropped up. This time it’s relocating, but the running list of previous preoccupations is expansive: DSLRs, haute couture, the construction of a dark room, makeup tutorials, photojournalism, floriculture, color theory. Each of them had a shelf life of a mere few weeks or, when she had been particularly harried by the woes of everyday life, a couple of months.

She fishes her phone out of purse and opens up to the apartment sites she has bookmarked, lazily scrolling through the listings and occasionally firing off a generic, prewritten email to the landlord of any place that appears half-decent. She can spare a few minutes to do this before she addresses the stupid cushions, right? Her eyes dart to the time in the corner of the screen. 8:40 PM. She still has nearly four hours until Emily’s off.

It occurs to her that she should probably turn the lights on, but even the prospect of that seems too daunting, too demanding. Her text jingle, customized for messages from Alex, distracts her from the guilt of not even being able to turn on the stupid _lamp_. The lamp that’s no more than eight feet away.

_So how did it go today?_

Haley types her message with furious abandon, the silence amplifying the sound of her nails tapping against the screen.

_Ugh dont go there. Total disaster_

_Why tho_

_Every apt sucked, Sebastian was a jerk. Ill tell you more tomrrow_  
_*tomorrow_

Her heart skips several beats when the door creaks open and someone switches the light on. Her phone slips from her hands and she fumbles to catch it before it lands screen-down on her chest.

“Hello?” Emily calls out tentatively.

Her muscles relax, the sinews uncoil, as relief and irritation replace the spike of anxiety that pierced her chest. “Oh my god, you scared the crap out of me. Did you get off early or what?”

She hangs her royal blue clutch on the coat rack. “Haley, it’s midnight.”

“Already?” Haley unlocks her phone screen and, sure enough, the smooth white numbers read 12:05.

“I’m guessing you lost track of time since you got home,” Emily says as she crosses the threshold of the kitchen into her room. “How did it go today?”

“Ugh.”

“Aww. What was wrong?”

“Every place was gross and Sebastian was a freak,” she declares, turning her phone over in her head and ignoring the text notification from Alex. She’ll just respond later, and she’ll do it for real this time, not just in her head like always —

“Don’t you think you’ve judged him a little harshly?” Emily emerges from her room donned in a lilac nightgown. She shuffles into the kitchen and rummages through the fridge before plopping down on the loveseat opposite Haley. “You have more in common than you think.”

“Oh yeah? I don’t think so.”

“You both live at home, you both want to move to the city. You’re both — hmm, how do I say this? — a little abrasive at first.”

Haley sinks further into the cushions. “You’re kidding.”

“And I think you’re both lonely.” Emily’s smile is at once melancholy and opaque, as though she knows something about him that Haley doesn’t and has no plans of divulging this information.

Lonely? That’s rich. Haley laughs dryly and plucks a piece of lint off the armrest. How can he be lonely with two good friends in town? He had no qualms flaunting that fact in her face earlier today. The idea that _she’s_ lonely — well. She won’t deign to give the notion a second thought. She has Alex and that’s more than enough.

“Think what you want, but I’m nothing like _him_.”

“Just try to be nice to him? He hasn’t done anything to you,” Emily implores, shoving her spoon into the last slice of Haley’s valiant attempt at vegan cheesecake from the past weekend.

“Fine, whatever. It’d be a pain to try to find someone else at this point anyway.” She hauls herself off of the sofa for the first time since she got home and the sheer heft of her lethargy threatens to pull her right back to those stupid cushions. “I’m going to bed.”

“That’s not a bad idea. I’m sure you’re exhausted,” Emily says with a mouth full of cheesecake. “Night!”

Haley brushes her teeth, applies her moisturizer and lip balm, and strides over to her nightstand to flick the switch on the white noise machine. She changes the setting from _rain_ to _ocean_ and slips between her silken sheets, pulling her down comforter over her face. Sinking slowly into the sounds of waves crashing softly on the shore, all thoughts dissipate and disperse from her mind like seafoam melting into the water.

The cushions can wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“Short shorts, short skirts_  
>  Flower tops, denim shirts  
> In the big city, nothing hurts”


	3. All Signs Point to Zuzu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was on hiatus for a hot minute, but here i am againnnn. i’ve churned out a few chapters while i was gone, so i’ll be adhering to an upload schedule now for once in my life. every other thursday babey

“Hey, I picked up this lady on the side of the road. You don’t mind if she joins us tonight, do you?”

“Hilarious, Abby.”

Abigail giggles while Nimet rolls her dark eyes, though her subtle smirk betrays her true feelings. She hangs her messenger bag on the coat hook mounted to the wall by the door and takes a seat on the floor next to Abigail. Their knees touch.

Sebastian sighs and stabs his cigarette into the weathered grey ashtray, extinguishing the lingering flames. He doesn’t turn his head at the crinkle of chip bags opening.

“You look like you just sniffed shit, Seb,” Sam says. A distinct crunch grinds against Sebastian’s ears and the ambient sounds of their Friday rendezvous whittle at his patience more than they ever did.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sam’s expression drops. He sports a lopsided frown. “Things didn’t work out the way you wanted, huh?”

Sebastian bristles. He didn’t have it in him to tell them about the dismal results of his apartment hunting excursion and they heretofore didn’t think to ask.

“Oh, that’s right! You didn’t say anything about how the house hunting went,” Abigail chirps, leaning an elbow on the table.

He rises to his feet and joins them by the table. “They all sucked.”

“Are we talking, like, ‘way overpriced’ suck, or ‘this place has a pile of asbestos in the corner’ sucked?” Sam asks.

Images of the washing machine hell portal immediately bubble up in his mind’s eye like a grotesque creature emerging from a bog.

“There were some health hazards.”

Abigail blows an errant strand of hair out of her face. “All right, I don’t want Mom and Dad yelling at me for coming home too late again. Someone draw the scenario card.”

“I’ll let our _esteemed_ guest do the honors,” Sebastian says, proffering the deck to Nimet.

“I have no idea what to expect.” She gingerly plucks a card from the deck and squints before reading, “‘You and your party have attended Grandmaster Grogdal’s feast to celebrate the liberation of Skaorus. All is merry until you and your party black out. Upon waking, you see corpses scattered about: you are the only survivors.”

Sam’s eyebrows shoot straight up. “Damn, that’s pretty grim! Don’t think we’ve gotten that one before.”

He divvies up the roles, taking the mantle of wizard. Abigail gets healer, Sam gets warrior; they all stay well within their comfort zone tonight.

“So, back to Zuzu,” Abigail begins. She cracks open a can of soda and the sibilant hiss resounds through the room. “Where were you looking for places?”

He rolls for strength. Twelve. Not bad. “Jakeslist. Where else are you supposed to look?”

“That was your first mistake. For the really big cities, you gotta use Coolpad.” Nimet slides a chip into her mouth and leans back on her hands.

He rolls for constitution. Five. Well, something has to give every game, and maybe this is it.

“Oh, that’s right. Nimet lived in Zuzu for ages. You could’ve asked her.”

“Dunno if I thought it through all that much,” he admits. He rolls for charisma. Eighteen. If only it could be that way in real life.

“If you look in the right places, you’ll find somewhere eventually,” Nimet says, leaning forward again. Her dyed blue hair hangs in front of her face. She and Abigail look perfectly complementary, like a pair of hydrangeas flush against one another. He never stood a chance. He rolls for wisdom. Ten.

Abigail flashes a cheeky grin. “No offense, but _I_ wouldn’t complain if things didn’t work out.”

“Same,” Sam says, excavating a piece of chip from between his teeth.

They stay well into the nadir of the night, effervescent and convivial, but their laughter sounds distant, and he wonders what’s changed in him over the course of a week that he can’t bring himself to smile.

He used them as a bargaining chip to gain the upper hand; he used them as a balm for his ego, and now he’s leaving them behind.

The night winds down and they wrap up the scenario. Their party never found the true perpetrators of the massacre and only managed to corner a decoy. His wisdom may have been low, but Abigail and Sam somehow rolled even lower than he did.

“I’m beat! That scenario was fun, though,” Abigail says with an emphatic yawn, stretching her arms behind her back. “Even if things didn’t really work out in our favor.”

She rises to her feet and Nimet follows suit. “It was interesting to watch.”

Abigail punches her arm playfully. “You’re a _terrible_ liar. Don’t think I didn’t see you dozing off.”

They all ascend the staircase back up to the main floor, taking care to refrain from arousing the attention of his mother or anyone else in the family. It’s well past midnight and Mom has a mystifying routine of getting up at the crack of dawn. She’s not exactly swimming in projects, let alone time-sensitive ones, but old habits from more financially auspicious days die hard.

“You’ll be fine going home?” Sebastian asks Abigail when they’re all in the foyer, strictly out of habit. It’s not like she needs him anymore.

Abigail nods. “I’ll be fine. My house is on the way, so Nimet and I were gonna go together.”

He makes a concerted effort to act his age. “Right.”

They bid their farewells, and though Abigail’s grin far eclipses Nimet’s, the farmer’s amicability is getting harder and harder to deny by the day. Soon enough, his irrational aloofness towards her will lose its novelty even with Abigail and Sam.

Sam lingers in the doorway after the other two have departed and turns around to face him. He scratches his chin. Sebastian has already decided that he doesn’t like where this is going.

“You that upset about the whole apartment hunting thing?” he says. He quirks a brow. “Or is it Haley?”

Sebastian’s eyes widen. “How’d you—”

“Emily told Mom about it and Mom told me about it. Seriously, you thought that was just gonna fly under the radar? In _this_ place?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. “I wasn’t trying to hide it, stupid. Was I supposed to broadcast it to the world?”

When he opens his eyes again, superficial indignation greets him. “I wasn’t saying _that_. I’m just surprised, ’s all. I figured you’d rather deal with Demetrius every day for the rest of your life than have to stand in the same room as her.”

Sebastian grimaces. This would be why he kept it on the down low. “Okay. Yeah, it’s not great, but what else am I supposed to do? No one else panned out. It’s just for a year, anyway.”

Sam’s indignation yields to the emotion for which it served as an artifice: disappointment.

“It’s really happenin’, huh?” He slips his hands in his pockets looks down at the floor mat. “I don’t know. I’m not trying to stop you, man. I just didn’t think it was gonna happen. Thought you were bluffing. It’s just…gonna suck without you.”

Sebastian’s lip twitches. He can’t conjure a response. He had been so preoccupied with his own fate, marinating in his own misery, that it didn’t occur to him that anyone would care about his departure. It seemed inconceivable that his presence — or lack thereof — could send ripples throughout the town. It still does.

His cheeks feel hot with shame. “Sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Sam plants a hand on his shoulder. “You gotta do what’s best for you. Not me, not Abby, not even your family. _You_.”

He freezes, inadvertently tensing at his touch. He’d readily identify Sam as his best friend, but these moments of vulnerability are few and far in between, and Sam — for all his benevolent intentions — has the emotional intelligence of a lily pad bobbing along the pond’s surface.

“Thanks, man.” As if Sebastian is that much better. “Sometimes it feels like a lose-lose.”

“Don’t think about it like that. You’re gonna give up before you ever really tried.”

With a genial smile and a well-intentioned wave, he’s gone, slipping into the warm night back towards town. Sebastian does what he does best and slinks back into the sanctuary of his room, where day and night are all but abstractions. He goes through the motions; brushes his teeth, slips into pajamas, and throws himself on the bed where he gazes at the stone walls and the various posters and photos he’s plastered upon them over the years. He can’t see them in the dark, but he’s holed himself up in here for so long that he knows where they are by heart.

He can’t see it, but a glossy print of Zuzu City at night stares him down, dangling its promise so that it’s just out of reach. It was always just beyond his grasp, but now, for a split second, he can feel his fingertips brushing against that white whale of a new life.

They might not realize it now, but Sam, Abigail — they’ll all be relieved when he’s not around. They’ll all wake up and the epiphany of how he’s been holding them back will creep upon their hearts like a nimble spider, sinking its fangs into their souls and singeing the memory of him to ashes.

* * *

Thursday comes and goes without incident. Something had stopped him from accepting her offer to venture into Zuzu again. Maybe it was the lingering memory of their last encounter; maybe it was the knowledge that everyone in the damn town knew that they were looking for a place _together_. Sure, he knows that no one is stupid enough to think that it’s anything more than an arrangement of convenience, but it’s the principle of the matter.

He had stayed holed up in his dungeon — partially due to routine, partially due to his fear of running into her and having a confrontation. Thus, he finds himself sitting here by the river, long after the sun has set. Cicadas cry in unison, forming a cacophonous chorus of…horniness, if he recalls correctly.

It’s a full moon and he can see the faint blue traces of his outline on the water’s surface. He flicks cigarette ashes onto the ground, but an abrupt breeze sweeps them into the water where they sink into the image of his silhouette. He scowls. Whatever. The river’s already a radioactive cesspool thanks to Joja. A few ashes aren’t going to make much of a difference.

The sound of footsteps behind him causes his muscles to contract and lock in place. Is it the farmer? Demetrius could very well be slinking around this time of night. It’s not like he can anything better to do between running a bunch of trivial experiments all for the sake of sating his curiosity. His frown turns bitter. It’s his mother who puts bread on the table. It’s always been that way.

“Can I join you?”

But it’s not the farmer, nor is it Demetrius; it’s someone equally dreaded for entirely different reasons. Maru’s timid voice makes a small incision into the serenity of the night. He turns his head and she’s standing there behind the bushes, and it strikes him how some things never change. She’d do the same thing as she watched him and Abigail play together by this very riverside so many years ago.

He shrugs. “If you don’t mind the smoke.”

She duly shuffles over and sits down beside him. He rummages through his memory and tries to recall the last time they spent any time together — just the two of them. He takes an anxious drag. Nothing comes up.

“You’re leaving,” she says after a painfully protracted silence.

 _Oh, thanks for reminding me. I nearly forgot._ He bites his tongue. “Yeah. What about it?”

Maru’s lips twist into a frown, the depth of which no doubt matches that of her pain. He knows it’s him. It’s always him.

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

He coughs, nearly choking on the smoke filtering from his mouth. He isn’t sure what he was expecting. Small talk or admonishment, perhaps, but not this.

“Why not? It’s not gonna change anything,” he mutters.

“It will, though. It won’t be the same without you.” She hugs her knees close to her chest. “Even if you don’t come up often, it’s comforting knowing that you’re there.”

His stomach lurches and he doesn’t quite know why. It’s not like she said anything particularly offensive or shocking. They’re not even close. There’s no reason for his heart to be sinking into the pit of the stomach like it is. They barely know each other.

“It’s what’s best for me,” he says, hesitating before adding, “and for you guys.”

Maru says nothing. If he strains his eyes, he thinks he can see her lower lip trembling in the darkness, but he’s probably just seeing things.

The dense humidity of the summer night draws out the crisp scent of freshwater and moss. A squirrel scurries up a tree on the other side of the river, slipping lithely into its hollow. Its life seems so simple, something to be envied. What is he supposed to say? Is it an apology that she wants? Reassurance? With his free hand, he twists a piece of grass between his fingers before plucking it from the earth entirely.

“Will you at least call home every once in a while?” she asks.

He stares intently at the end of his cigarette.

“What would I even talk about?”

“…I see.” In his peripheral vision, he can see her rising to her feet. “I just thought I’d ask.”

The grass rustles beneath her feet as she stalks off toward the house. A firefly flashes in the distance, mimicking the embers that cling to life at the end of the cigarette. He gets up off the ground. A numbness creeps up his legs and infects his body all the way down to his fingertips.

Smoke dissipates into the sky. People in the city are somehow sleeping under the same stars.

Sebastian drops the cigarette to the ground and crushes it beneath his foot, wondering if the stars shine as brilliantly above the city’s eternal canopy of light.

* * *

Sebastian hears nothing more from Haley, a fact for which he is profoundly grateful. She might’ve given up by now. That would be both a blessing and curse, but after the guilt tripping he’s had to endure the past week, he’s willing to white-knuckle through the inconveniences her hesitance would engender.

He’s also successfully dodged Emily in the meantime, but unless he spontaneously spawns a few dozen brain cells dedicated solely to creativity, that’s about to change in twenty minutes.

The prospect of encountering Emily is unattractive at best and bloodcurdling at worst. If she was so willing to dispense information with Sam’s mother, there’s no telling what she’ll directly say to him. If Haley told her exactly what he said, he’s toast. Fucking finito.

“Stop worrying,” Abigail chides as they cross the threshold and enter the Stardrop Saloon. “You know Emily’s not like that.”

Despite his doubts, she’s right. Things go unexpectedly well. Emily minds her business and Nimet’s apparently decided to stay home and devote her precious time toward pickling peppers. It feels like old times again — just the three of them.

“How am I still so bad at this?” Sam laments, gripping his hip with one hand and leaning over the pool table with the other.

“‘Cause you keep doing the same shit expecting different results.” Sebastian returns the pool cue to its rightful place on the wall rack. “You ever hear the definition of insanity?”

Sam wilts even further.

The night winds down and the bar’s patrons filter out one by one as the music begins to fade. He’s nearly out of the woods; it’s just a matter of slipping past Emily while he makes his escape. He approaches the door casually, minimizing his presence, trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible as his hand hovers above the door handle —

“Hey Sebastian!”

He freezes in his tracks. It could never be that easy.

“Bummer. I thought she might let you off the hook,” Sam says with a wholly insincere frown.

Abigail waves with cruel indifference — maybe even sadistic delight, if he’s being honest. “We’ll see you Sunday!”

The pine door closes in his face and he’s forced to drag his feet back over to the bar where Emily’s eternal smile greets him. Up close, he can see that her red lipstick has smudged just a bit in the corner of her mouth.

“What is it?” he says, still transfixed on the smudge. Great: just three words into this conversation and he already wants to slice his own tongue out and hurl it into the river. It’ll be right at home with the rest of the trash that flows there.

Emily’s as unfazed as ever, though. She folds her arms and leans over the bar.

“It’s about Haley,” she says, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, as though she hasn’t already told the entire town about their jaunt into the city.

“Right…?”

A cloud suddenly casts a shadow over her otherwise cheery countenance. She frowns and stares at the lacquered countertop.

“If she bothered you when you guys were out looking for apartments, I’m sorry. She doesn’t always think of how her words affect others,” she says ruefully.

The sincerity of her apology renders him speechless. Sure, Haley hadn’t been the most pleasant partner. Sure, she said stupid shit. Sure, he could think of several people he’d rather live with. Sure, staying home seemed like the better prospect when they were together. Sure, it still kind of does seem like the better prospect. At the same time, her behavior wasn’t anything so egregious or transgressive as to warrant an apology. He knew what he was in for.

“Look, don’t worry about it,” he says opaquely — more to the smudge on her lip than anything else.

His words don’t assuage her anxieties. In his periphery, he can see Shane eyeing them both with something a little more benign than suspicion, but less innocent than curiosity.

“Maybe this is a little too much to ask, but would you give her another chance?” Her frown turns into a sad smile — like this is a conversation she’s far too accustomed to having. “I think it’s important for her to experience life on her own, but I don’t know if she’s ready to do it all by herself yet. When you peel the onion, she’s a really sweet person!”

Emily’s ruby eyes shimmer with a silent plea that goes beyond the supplication for a second chance. He can’t quite identify what she’s wordlessly asking him for, but the intensity of her request is nearly enough to make him buckle. Her sororal love radiates off of her in radioactive waves, sapping him of his willpower.

“She wasn’t that bad,” Sebastian says, making an earnest attempt at being gentle. “Not enough that we weren’t gonna try again together, at least.”

“Oh, I’m so happy to hear that!” The clouds part, the sun shines, and she stands straight up. “I was really worried.”

His gaze briefly flickers over to Shane, who’s no longer looking at them but now pensively studying the cracks between the floorboards — or something. Sebastian wants to ask why Emily is so supremely invested in her sister’s affairs, especially as they concern him, but he can’t bring himself to throw her authentic concern for them both back in her face so callously. He doesn’t mind telling the majority of the town to fuck off as he deems it appropriate, but the relieved glow about her fills him with a sense of melancholy; a sense of embarrassment, the precise source of which he can’t exactly pinpoint.

Emily backs away from the bar and scoops up a rag to begin wiping down the back counter. “I told her that you two are more alike than you think. If you become roommates, I hope you get to see that for yourself.”

If it were anyone else, he wouldn’t deign to feign a smile. Yet, it’s Emily, so he does. He fakes it. He fakes it and tries not to ruminate upon the fact that he couldn’t do the same for his own sister.

“Maybe we will. Thanks, Emily.”

He finally takes his leave of the bar and walks home, hands in his pockets, turning her words over like a well-worn pebble in his mind. More alike than they think, huh?

That’s as much of a comfort as a nail gun to the skull.

* * *

_Beautiful 1/1 in heart of Berrybush Quarter — newly rehabbed! 2500 G/mo_

_Charming Steel Square studio — 1200 G/mo_

All these listings are beginning to blur together into a gelatinous, murky blob of buzzwords and misleading photos. He knows better now than to accept the brightly lit pictures of living rooms shot from convenient angles. They just might be harboring the gateway to a dimension not meant for the eyes of mortal men.

_2 bedroom available in Ivywood — 1500 G_

Oh? He leans forward, squinting against the vivid white light in the midst of the darkness that otherwise floods his room. That’s pricier than the other places they looked at, but still reasonable. He scrolls through the pictures, maintaining a healthy degree of skepticism regarding the whole affair. There’s no washer or dryer, so that at least eliminates the potential for any liquefied mummies lurking in the appliances.

After his curiosity has been thoroughly sated, he leans away from the monitor and back in his chair. He thinks of Emily’s impassioned entreaty for mercy towards her sister. He thinks of Maru’s crestfallen face. The numbness that assailed him returns once more, spreading from his chest outward and luxuriating along his nerves until he doesn’t feel his fingers when he mechanically twists open the bottle of melatonin.

The heady haze of his loneliness once wrapped itself around him like a thick blanket, warm and mollifying. At some point it morphed, shifted, became more of a noxious gas that gripped him in a chokehold than anything comforting.

An impulse impels him to whip out his phone and pull up her number.

_Did you ever find a place?_

Regret threatens to hijack his cortex. It’s nearly there when she texts back a few minutes later:

_No not yet_

He’s momentarily stunned by the fact that she didn’t bring up his Thursday absenteeism. The regret begins to recede.

_I’ve found one._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“I hate this town  
>  ‘Cause no one understands  
> I just can’t be tied down  
> Nothing comes between me and my plans”_


	4. Horsey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have a somewhat long boi. thanks for your lovely feedback, as always!

The noon sun beats mercilessly down on Haley’s bare shoulders as bugs croon their indolent summer song. She leans back against the ice cream stand and opens Sebastian’s message for the tenth time, still trying to ascertain whether it’s a figment of her imagination or not.

“Yo!”

She whips her head around at the sound of Alex’s voice booming across the bridge. He’s sporting the goofy white button down and black shorts that Lewis forces him to wear as the ice cream stand uniform, looking as though he just stepped out of a vintage postcard. What were those guys who ran the soda fountains in diners called? She remembers reading about them a while back. The name escapes her. She _did_ read about it, though. She knows she did.

“Uh, you good?”

The blurred edges of the world come back into focus and Alex is no longer on the bridge, but now standing directly in front of her, giving her The Look. It’s the look he gives her whenever her imagination has fled the stables to run free.

She shakes her head. “I’m fine.”

He makes quick work of setting up as she studies a dragonfly perched on the edge of the bridge. It soon takes off and skims along the water’s surface, its jeweled coat shining emerald and sapphire in the sun.

“You seem kinda, you know,” Alex begins, scooping vanilla ice cream into a cone, “a little out of it today.”

She haphazardly chooses a stock response and shrugs. “I guess.”

“You know what’ll get your mind back on track?”

Haley diverts her attention away from the dragonfly and toward Alex, who is now equipped with a vanilla ice cream cone.

“It’s on the house,” he says — just as he does every time she visits him while he’s on the unofficial clock — as he hands her the cone.

“Thanks.”

Alex finishes setting up shop and an amicable silence falls over them, a quiet harmony complementing the melody of ambient summer sounds. The dense, dry heat and mellifluous sound of the flowing river are enough to coax Haley’s eyelids closed. If only there were a hammock in the shade nearby that she could curl up and doze off in…

“Haley…”

She snaps out of her reverie and feels something cold coursing down her hand. A thin stream of melted ice cream sluices down her arm. She licks it up gingerly, putting an unceremonious halt to its course.

“Thanks again,” she says with a wry smile.

Alex grins. “You’d let your own head roll away if it weren’t for me.”

She leans forward across the counter, resting her chest against the wood, and his grin morphs into a quizzical smile.

“Can I tell you something? Don’t bother answering that. I’m gonna do it anyway. I’m getting kind of desperate,” she admits. She raises her eyebrows. “Are you _sure_ you don’t wanna move?”

He proffers a napkin and she gratefully accepts. “I’ve lost track of all the times you’ve asked me that.”

“Because it just makes more sense!” she laments. She wipes up the remains of the trickle on her arm.

Alex squares his jaw, deadly serious, but his voice is gentle when he says, “I’m not gonna leave Grandma and Grandpa behind.”

She sighs and tucks her proverbial tail between her legs. “I know. Sorry.”

“I get it, though. I can’t see you living with _Sebastian_ ,” he says, the name rolling off his tongue with derision.

“Me either,” she says, lapping thoughtfully at the remainder of her ice cream.

“Hey, it’s the farm girl!” Alex shouts out with a grin.

Sure enough, Farm Girl — no, Nimet — is walking briskly across the bridge in their direction, a brown messenger bag slung across her shoulder and her midnight blue braid swinging to and fro. Nimet’s eyes widen in recognition and she waves at them. She’s clearly a woman on a mission, but she stops at the ice cream stand anyway and turns to Alex.

“I’ll take mint chocolate chip if you’ve got it. In a cup, please.”

Alex nods sagely — well, as sagely as someone like him can be. “Say no more.”

He plucks a cup from behind the counter and dips below to pack it full. He reemerges and Nimet drops a handful of gold coins into his free hand as she takes the cup — just a little too eagerly, Haley notes. Now equipped, she turns to Haley, a sly smile spreading across her pink lips.

“Heading to the city, huh? With _Sebastian_ , no less.”

It’s the second time within ten minutes that someone has expressed such a sentiment, but where Alex came from a place of vague contempt, Nimet comes from a place of amused surprise. Haley scowls.

“Yeah. What about it?”

Nimet’s beam, however smug it may be at the moment, is intrinsically affable enough to create a concurrent pang of guilt and jealousy in Haley’s heart.

“Just an interesting combo, that’s all. You gotta remember to communicate. I moved in with my best friend after college,” she says, stabbing her spoon into her cup. “We’re not best friends anymore.”

“Good thing he and I aren’t best friends then.” Haley’s gaze flickers over to Alex, whose expression screams _don’t involve me in this_.

“Then it’s even more important to, you know, talk to each other.”

“Jeez. Isn’t it enough to just leave each other alone?”

“Then you end up having to eat cereal in a saucepan because there are no clean bowls left, or you’ve got black mold living rent-free in your bathroom. Better yet, your power gets turned off in the dead of winter because no one paid the bill.” Nimet waves her spoon around like a conductor’s baton. “That shit isn’t fun.”

Haley shifts her weight from one foot to the other and bites off a piece of the cone, the ice cream having long been thoroughly eaten down to the last drop.

“Well, whatever,” Haley says with a casual shrug and a mouth full of cone. “Anyway, where do people go to shop there? I only ever go to the same two places when I visit.”

“I’ll tell you if you have the time.” Nimet’s personable smile doesn’t fade when she adds, “After rent, you won’t have much money to spend there, anyway.”

* * *

When Haley arrives at the bus stop early the next morning, Sebastian is already there, hunched over with an unlit cigarette between his lips and eyes fixed upon the sidewalk. His motorcycle is nowhere to be seen.

“Are we taking the bus?” she asks.

He starts at the sound of her voice and stands erect, turning his head to face her. Purple circles peek through underneath his eyes. Did he sleep at all last night?

“No, we’re walking there,” he deadpans with a scowl.

She narrows her eyes. “Oh, are we starting this? This early in the morning?”

He clenches his jaw in turn. “I’m not starting _anything_.”

“You totally were.” He opens his mouth to protest, but she holds up a hand. She’s surprised that the gesture is sufficient to shut him up. “Keep it to yourself. Can we just get this over with?”

He kicks the dirt, defeated.

“I just didn’t feel like chancing a parking ticket today,” he says.

“Good, ‘cause my skin was _so_ dry after we got back the last time.” The word ‘we’ in reference to him and her still feels strange on her tongue — like that bizarre, metallic tang after licking a battery.

Noting that he’s already bought his ticket, she purchases hers at the kiosk. After avoiding each other’s gaze for far too long, the bus finally rolls up to the stop with a high-pitched moan. They’re all going to meet their end on this thing one day and Lewis’s parsimony will be squarely to blame.

She must be more tired than she thought, because she closes her eyes for a scant few minutes and when she opens them, they’re already pulling into the gritty darkness of the bus terminal.

“Already?” she mutters groggily, groaning at the crick in her neck from the stiff headrests.

Sebastian doesn’t bother responding. The bus pulls into the gate and the riders up front begin to filter out onto the concrete below and into the terminal. Judging by the plenitude of people in bespoke suits, most of them are here for work. Her heart leaps into her throat. Soon enough, she’ll be joining them.

After making their way through the terminal and descending toward the street, they weave through the streets of Station Place toward the eastern neighborhood of Ivywood, backtracking and bickering and swearing and soldiering on until they’ve arrived in the quiet quarter. When they arrive at the specified address, a man who is presumably the landlord is loitering on the sidewalk. He’s older, with sparse grey hairs framing his ears and a vast expanse of baldness everywhere else on his head. He’s donned in a tawny bomber jacket and faded blue jeans that wrinkle and bunch up near his calves. Either they’re too big or he’s too skinny.

Before either of them have the opportunity to introduce themselves, the man approaches them. He has a slight limp in his left leg. She makes a conscious effort not to stare.

“You’re the tenant I spoke to last night?”

Sebastian nods, fingers rippling in his pockets — out of anxiety, she surmises. “Yeah, that’s me. Sebastian.”

“Jeff Culpepper. Nice to meet you,” he says gruffly. “I’m sure you’re both busy, so I won’t waste your time.”

 _And you better not waste mine._ The unspoken implication hangs above them both like a sword suspended from a string.

The man leads them up the stone steps into the old building. He fumbles with a fully loaded keyring — how many places does this guy even own? — before unlocking the front door.

“The bottom floor folks are finally keepin’ the front door locked,” he mumbles. “Had to give them a talkin’ to about that.”

Her eyes wander over towards Sebastian, who apparently has the same thought and is looking at her with a skeptical eye. They still follow him duly up the wooden staircase and onto the second floor. These stairs also groan underneath their weight; is every house in this city a derelict disaster? Jeff thumbs through his keyring once more, his jowls sinking as he frowns, and he inserts a petite key into the keyhole.

She follows him across the threshold and the presence of cream colored carpet immediately strikes her; every apartment she’s seen up to this point has been cold, hardwood floors. This doesn’t escape Jeff’s attention and his thin lips twist into a smug grin.

“Surprised by the carpet, are ya? It’s a pain in the ass to maintain, but you’re gonna need it for winter nights. Where’d you two say you were from?”

“Stardew Valley,” Haley responds cautiously as they follow him into the immaculate living room. She has to admit that, at first glance, the apartment is significantly more attractive than she gave it credit for after perusing the photos Sebastian had sent her. So far, it’s not the place she has a problem with.

“Well, hell!” Jeff’s eyebrows shoot up as they all gather in the empty living room. The windows display an austere view onto the brick building next door. “An old pal of mine lives in Pelican Town.”

Sebastian stares daggers at her and starts to shake his head when she says, “That’s where we’re from.”

“No kiddin’. You know Gus?”

Gus _would_ be this guy’s friend. He’s friends with everyone irrespective of attitude.

“He’s my sister’s boss,” Haley volunteers.

He shakes his head and chuckles. “A small world, it is.”

She thinks she sees Sebastian exhale in relief out of the corner of her eye, but she dismisses the thought.

Jeff takes them through the living room and the cramped kitchen before they loop back toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms. The apartment is a little claustrophobic, with narrows passages that only seem to taper as she traverses down the hall but it’s clean. She hasn’t seen a bug — yet. There are no piles of sludge lurking in the corners.

“And here we’ve got the master,” Jeff says as he ushers them into the bedroom on the right. It’s a little minuscule to be considered a master bedroom. Her lips curl into what she hopes is an enigmatic smile.

Sebastian nods silently, but when she catches sight of what’s out the window, she rushes across the threshold over to the sill.

“Oh, wow!” she cries out, leaning forward to look out the window. The view is nothing extraordinary; there’s no skyline towards which she can longingly gaze. It’s just a top down view of the businesses and concrete veins of streets and sidewalks that connect them and the barest suggestion of skyscrapers on the horizon. It’s nonetheless something she’s never had, the antithesis of the still life painting outside her window in Stardew Valley: bushes and cobblestone, evermore.

She curls her fingers around the window sill. Home. Soon, home won’t be home anymore.

“Sometimes I forget what it must look like to country bumpkins,” Jeff says airily. “Keeps me humble.”

When Haley turns around, Sebastian isn’t standing among them anymore. From his place in the hallway, he stares out the window of the other bedroom into the brick wall of the building next to this one.

Jeff takes them through the rest of the apartment and everything seems to check out. She narrows her eyes; it almost seems too good to be true. The bathroom is immaculate, the appliances are up to date. The price seems right, too. The tour reaches its conclusion and he escorts them back to the front door.

“And that about does it.” He gestures vaguely to the apartment as a whole, a self-satisfied smile adorning his pale, aged features. “Figure this’ll go pretty quick.”

Haley plays with her bracelet. “So, if we wanted this place, what would we have to do?”

Jeff’s gaze is shrewd and unyielding, trying to ascertain if they’re worth his while.

“Well, there’s the whole matter’a the background and credit check.” He holds his chin between his fingers. “If you two can submit an application today, I’d have the lease ready by Wednesday.”

“We can do that,” Haley says without a second thought.

Out of the corner of her eye, she can make out the sight of Sebastian’s subtle panic.

“Good thing I thought ahead for once,” Jeff says with a chortle that’s just as gruff as the rest of him. He produces two applications from the manila folder and a set of pens from his pocket and hands them both to Sebastian, whose eyes seem to be about to roll right out of his skull. “Go ahead and fill that out. Cash or check for the fee is fine. If you need a place to lean on, you can use the kitchen counters.”

They steal away into the kitchen while Jeff waits in the bedroom on the other end of the apartment.

“Are you crazy?” he says, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Why would you do that on the spot?”

“What’s your problem? It’s just an application, not a promise.”

“And? I don’t know what made you think you could speak for me, but cut that shit out.” His lips twist into a contemptuous scowl. “What if I didn’t like the place? Or that guy, for that matter?”

Heat creeps up her neck and pools in her cheeks. “Like I said, it’s just an application. It’s not a big deal.”

“Whatever. Guess the ship’s sailed.”

They both lean against the countertops (on opposite ends, of course) and fill out the applications in tense silence. Concentrating on the questions seems an impossible task when the weight of his hatred hangs heavy in the air and deepens gravity’s pull toward the earth. The hand that wields the pen goes leaden. She blushes, flustered, when she reaches the work and rental history sections.

After a few painstaking minutes, they return to the bedroom to hand over their applications to the ever patient Mr. Culpepper. 

“Thanks kindly. I’ll give — ” (he glances down at the application papers) “Mr. Sebastian a call on Tuesday if your applications’ve been approved.”

“Thanks,” Sebastian says, shoulders squared and guarded. “We’ll be in touch.”

Jeff laughs with that same gruffness he so proudly displayed at the beginning of this tour.

“Keep your fingers crossed, all right? Nothin’ is guaranteed.”

Sebastian’s anxious laughter is the scrape of a fork against ceramic, the keen sound of a tuning fork against metal. It ricochets off her spine and she shudders.

* * *

They head back toward the bus stop; he stalks, she shuffles. Her eyes dart around, her brain struggling to sift through the inundation of stimuli: people of all kinds, all manner of storefronts and restaurants — a pizzeria, an artisan lemonade booth with a frilly lilac awning, a record store, two people bickering over who’s going to pay outside a Barstucks, a sidewalk signal beeping, a car honking, a woman cursing —

A lightning bolt of trepidation flashes through Haley when she realizes that Sebastian is already a block ahead of her, but when she catches up with him, his furrowed brow doesn’t betray frustration or impatience. No, he looks — nervous.

She twirls a lock of hair around her finger. “What’s wrong?”

“Just not used to so many people,” he admits.

They continue down the avenue until they reach the glass-paneled building that houses the bus terminal. After waiting in a line comprised of a family arguing in another language and an elderly woman baffled by the touch screen in front of her, they’ve purchased their tickets back to Stardew Valley from the lobby kiosks.

They go through the revolving doors (separately) and bright lights and white linoleum greet them. Haley capitalizes on Sebastian’s perusement of the electronic map in the center of the entrance and observes the people passing through. Some people mill about aimlessly while some carouse at the terminal restaurants. Others with suitcases and duffel bags in hand dart across the circular central hub as automated voices announce departures and arrivals over the intercom. She marvels at all the connections: Alpina, Conifery, Tortoiseshell Ridge, and countless other cities and towns, locales she’s only ever read about in magazines or learned about in school. Pipe dreams encapsulated in distant stars.

“Are you ready?”

Haley turns her head. She heard him, but she didn’t. “Huh?”

Flummoxed, he repeats, “I said, are you ready?”

“Oh. Yeah, let’s go.”

His confused expression doesn’t yield even as they get on the escalator and ascend to the third floor where eastbound buses board and unload passengers. They still have time to spare when they reach their gate. Still, people have begun lining up for the next bus by the glass door leading out into the dark, dank holding area for the buses and they reserve an early space in the queue.

“So,” Sebastian starts, looking at her but failing to make eye contact. “Who’s going to get that bedroom?”

Haley has learned that she can’t predict what will come out of his mouth, but she still never knows how to respond to such unanticipated subjects.

“What kind of a question is that?”

“The bedroom with the window.”

“Are you blind? Oh, wait, that’s right. You weren’t watching. Of course I want it.”

The door swings open and starts allowing passengers entry onto the terminal platform where the bus waits. Their conversation pauses long enough for them to hand the tickets to Pam and slip into the seats on opposite aisles on the back of the bus.

“Does it really matter that much to you?” he asks, flipping his hair out of his face. The bus groans to life and in a moment they’re on their way out of the terminal and, by extension, the city.

“Um, kinda. I’ve never had that kind of view before,” she says bitterly.

“I’ve never had any kind of view. Not since I was _three_.”

“That’s not never, then.”

He throws his hands up, exasperated. “Whatever! You know what I fuckin’ meant!”

She huffs and fidgets again with her bracelet. This is clearly a sore subject, the roots of which run deep into the core of his being. She’s never one to take the path of least resistance, but if putting up a fight means never hearing the end of it for the next year, she’ll accept the temporary loss. Besides, that room can become hers once he moves out at the end of their lease. It’s temporary. Temporary, she reminds herself with gritted teeth.

“Fine. Take it. I don’t care.”

Haley was expecting a wide swath of potential responses, but incredulity wasn’t one of them. His eyes widen almost imperceptibly, but before she has the time to determine whether that was an illusion, he’s already turned back toward the window. She squirms in her seat. She didn’t think she said anything _that_ outrageous — she even acquiesced to his request. Shouldn’t that be enough to satisfy him?

The protracted silence paves a path back home to the valley. The bus creaks to a halt once they’ve reached their stop, the sorbet-colored sun glaring at them both as they rise to their feet to disembark. They both linger outside by the kiosk. Pam descends the bus stairs and waddles down the path leading into town, no doubt craving her evening ritual.

“Let me know what happens then, I guess,” she mutters, moving her purse strap further up her shoulder and pivoting to head back in the direction of her house.

He does the same; his body faces the gap in the fence that leads to the mountains. “Yeah, I will.”

The ghost of some longer phrase loiters in the air, once again leaving her to wonder what it is that he truly wanted to say.

* * *

“So you decided, then?”

Emily twirls a pile of pumpkin noodles around her fork and shakes off the excess pesto before taking a dainty bite. She typically takes her lunch in the break room at the saloon but insisted on coming home to hear the results of this particular apartment hunting episode. Eight is a little late for dinner, but the dark sky hasn’t yet ripened to the darkest it can be.

“The landlord’s a weirdo, but I think this is the best we’re going to get,” Haley admits, taking a stiff swig of raspberry tea. “And I kind of told that studio that I’d be able to start in two weeks.”

Emily’s shoulders stiffen. “That’s good.”

Haley leans forward. “What’s wrong?”

She puts her fork down and it’s difficult to decipher her expression, even after all these years of knowing her.

“Ah, it’s nothing.” She smiles and wipes delicately at the tears beading on her lashes with her fingertip. “I knew that this was what you were meant for. I just…didn’t think fate would come knocking so soon.”

Haley stabs at a noodle. “You’re acting like I’m dying or something.”

“With Mom and Dad still traveling and you gone…” She trails off and looks away, as though the future is rolling like a film in the projector of her mind’s eye.

“You’ll be fine,” Haley says emphatically. “You’ve got more friends here than I do.”

Emily frowns. “They’re my friends. You’re my _sister_. No one’s going to replace you.”

The ice cubes bobbing along in the glass of tea are more intriguing than ever. It’s hard not to believe that people are lying when they say anything positive about Haley’s presence, but Emily is the one person where she believes it without question. Her stomach churns at the prospect of leaving that singular lifeline of affection. Thrust into the great unknown, not only without that love, but with someone who actively despises her.

She musters a smile. “I’ll come home and visit.”

“I’d better be allowed to come visit too,” Emily says with a huff, shoveling more noodles into her mouth. “It’ll make getting yarn a lot easier!”

“Oh, so that’s what you’re thinking about? I see how it is.” Haley hides her smile behind a forkful of noodles.

“Oh, come now. If I moved to the city, you’d be thinking about the same thing. Where to shop and all that.”

She can’t help but recall the farmer’s words.

“Maybe,” Haley mumbles.

Emily’s evergreen grin wavers. “What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head. “It’s nothing. Just...no, it’s nothing.”

“Everything’s going to work out.” Emily rises from the table and rinses her plate in the sink. “I have a premonition that you’re going to be happy and successful.”

“I already know I’ll be.” Haley clears out the rest of the noodles and drains her tea. “Since you’re already up, would you mind?”

Emily dries her hands on the pink hand towel hanging from the oven handle. Her expression is difficult to read as she acquiesces to Haley’s request.

“Of course,” she mutters, pensive. “You’ll have to be doing it on your own soon, after all.”

* * *

Her phone buzzes on Tuesday night.

_We got it. 10 AM tomorrow._

Her heart shoots straight up into her throat. Immediately, she discards her phone onto the nightstand and rolls over, shoving her face into her pillow as a squeal tears from her lungs. It’s happening.

She tosses and turns that night, the same thoughts replaying in her mind over and over like a scratched CD, the same images rewinding like a frayed tape — engulfing and sweeping away the sounds of the sea drifting from her white noise machine.

* * *

Sebastian’s leg bounces the entire bus ride back to the city. He looks out the window one minute, at the overhead light the next, before settling on the stuffing spilling from the tear in the seat next to him. He looks everywhere — except at her. The undertow of his anxiety sucks her right in and she’s impulsively checking her phone, refreshing the same three apps over and over, not registering anything she’s looking at.

Isn’t this supposed to be exciting? Isn’t it supposed to be the start of a new chapter? Why are neither of them happy? Well, that’s a lie. _She’s_ happy, but his negative energy is infectious.

“For someone who wanted to move so badly, you don’t seem very excited,” she finally says, still gazing out the window at the sprawling desert and sparse patches of greenery where cacti and feather grass festoon the sands.

He groans. “Oh, and you’re not nervous at all?”

“Who said anything about me? Don’t try to change the subject.”

He doesn’t counter. No, he huffs and turns away. He only has two responses to conflict, it seems, and he alternates between the two at regular intervals. Two can play at that game; and so, Haley mirrors him, huffing and turning away.

When they pull into the city and disembark onto the street, the sun’s jubilant rays bathe them both, as if to celebrate the realization of their independence. It’s a perfect summer day with little wisps of gossamer clouds drifting up above. The trek to Ivywood is less arduous, if only because Sebastian seems to have memorized the directions. Haley follows, marveling at how he managed to learn so swiftly.

Jeff, in his ostensibly punctual fashion, is already waiting for them outside the earthy green house. He leans against the wrought iron fence enclosing the small patch of grass that passes for a lawn in the front of the house. He catches sight of them as they approach and straightens his back.

“Good. You’re both on time,” Jeff says. Weird thing to focus on, but okay. “Let’s make it quick.”

Just as he did a mere few days prior, he ushers them into what’s about to be their new home. They walk up the steps and into the apartment — the apartment that’s about to belong to them. Haley twists and turns her bracelet, her fingers unsteady from the electrifying exhilaration of it all. They walk into the kitchen and he hands each of them copies of the lease as he leans on the counter next to the sink.

“I’m not gonna go over each and every little thing here. I’m assuming you two can read. I’ll go over the most important stuff, just so I can cover my own hide.” He chuckles, and when Haley looks over at Sebastian, a grimace clouds his countenance.

She looks down at the lease and she instantly knows she’s doomed. Her eyes glaze over at the walls of text that seem to bleed into each other, words that all start to look the same.

_This agreement, made on Summer 15, 2018, by and between JEFFREY CULPEPPER, herein referred to as “Landlord,” and HALEY MORGENSTERN and SEBASTIAN ESPINOZA, herein referred to as “Tenants.”_

_This agreement, made on Summer 15, 2018, by and between JEFFREY CULPEPPER, herein referred to as “Landlord,” and HALEY MORGENSTERN and SEBASTIAN ESPINOZA, herein referred to as “Tenants.”_

_This agreement, made on Summer 15, 2018, by and between JEFFREY CULPEPPER, herein referred to as “Landlord,” and HALEY MORGENSTERN and SEBASTIAN ESPINOZA, herein referred to as “Tenants.”_

She reads the first paragraph over and over again, willing the words to percolate into her memory, but just like spaghetti on a wall, they don’t stick. Jeff is already way ahead and Sebastian is following along, nodding as necessary to placate the man, and she’s still here trying to get past the very top.

“…I don’t normally run into that problem, but I wanna make that part _very_ clear.”

Her head snaps up and they’re both staring at her. With a speck of panic, she wonders if it was that easy to discern that she wasn’t following along. She nods with what she hopes is enough gravitas to convince them of the contrary, but Sebastian quirks a brow and she knows she’s blown it. Jeff doesn’t seem to catch on, still fixated on whatever clause they happen to be reviewing.

Haley turns the page when the rest of them turn the page and the act conjures images of grade school where she’d do the same thing — the words and sounds were lost causes, and so she would rely on her peers. She gnaws her lip. Those days don’t matter anymore.

They finally reach the end. Jeff doesn’t ask them if they have any questions. A satisfied grin spreads across his thin, creviced lips. “Here’s the fun part. You’ll sign and date and she’s all yours — for the next year, anyway.”

Little yellow tabs in the shape of arrows indicate where they’re to sign. Haley sneaks a surreptitious glance at Sebastian. His expression is inscrutable, with the only indication of his state being that his lips are slightly pursed as he rereads the legalese.

Haley leans on the kitchen counter. Sebastian stands straight. They each sign on their respective lines.

It’s theirs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“Yeah, so come run with me  
>  Let’s be free  
> Don’t look back ‘cause we’re not coming back”_


End file.
